His eyes flashed and he pulled her into his arms kissing her deeply.
Almost as fast as his lips came upon hers, he pushed her away, leaving her staring at him, bewildered. She did not know whether to laugh or cry as he walked to the door. His denial of the pull between them certainly was laughable, but there was nothing humorous about his words.
“This cannot continue. I am leaving for London within the hour.” He met her gaze, a tangle of emotions trailing through his eyes...passion, regret, longing, anger. “I want you to forget what we shared. I intend to do the same.”
Crestfallen, she stood shaking as he pulled open the door and disappeared into the hallway beyond. She’d never forget and, after the goodbye kiss he’d given her, she’d wager he never would either. She may be innocent, but she was far from ignorant. They’d shared something special from the moment she’d run into his arms outside Madame Lavonia’s house of ill repute
Julia inhaled a sharp breath, smoothed her skirts, and squared her shoulders. This was not over—far from it, in fact, if she had anything to say about it.
Charles entered his office and went straight to the sideboard, pouring a tumbler full of Scotch and knocking it back in one drink. He’d not slept a wink last night for thinking about Julia. The way she’d melted under his touch, the sound of his name on her sweet lips—it was maddening. He wanted little more than to possess her.
Even this morning, when he had his mind set on putting distance between them, he’d not been able to stop himself from taking her into his arms. Devil take him. She’d gotten under his skin. He’d even considered taking her as his mistress, but ultimately cast the idea aside. After all, she was still chaste and deserved more than spending her life as his plaything.
Pouring another Scotch, he moved to the bell pull and tugged. He needed only a word with Celia before he departed. By the time he returned, Julia would no longer consume his every thought.
One of his footmen appeared in the doorway. “Your Grace?”
“Tell my sister I am awaiting an audience with her.” Charles moved to sit behind his desk, a fresh tumbler in his hand. Despite Celia’s cheekiness, he knew full well she’d been waiting for an opportunity to pounce.
He did not have to wait long for her to burst into his office and plop into the chair across from his desk. He drained his drink, then placed his elbows on the mahogany surface of his desk and leaned forward. “You get two questions. Go.”
Celia smirked. “I need only one.” Mischief lit her eyes as she studied him. “What is afoot between you and Miss Julia?”
“Nothing.”
“You are telling a falsehood. Your eye is twitching.” She narrowed her gaze. “You fancy her.”
Sisters were no doubt sent by the devil to punish brothers, and his knew him all too well. Still, he attempted to lie. "My eye is twitching because you have been annoying me for days. Even now, you are testing my nerves."
“Only because I am right. You want her for your own. Admit it.” Celia pointed her finger at him. “You never could tell me falsehoods, Charles.”
He exhaled, attempting to buy himself a moment’s time to gather his wits. He had to tell Celia something, otherwise she would never cease hounding him. “Very well, I find Miss Julia attractive, but that is not to say I desire her for myself.”
“Because you fear she would not have you.”
“She would have me if I were marriage-minded.”
Celia’s grin widened at his mistake. Bloody hell, he’d given her all she needed in those nine words to discern the truth of things.
“How can you be so sure?” The victorious expression she wore told him no answer was needed.
“What woman would not want a duke? I am wealthy, titled, and most ladies find me pleasant enough to look at.” He scrambled to cover his misstep. “I am a catch.”
Celia huffed in amusement. “Does that twitch in your eye bother you?”
“You already used your two questions.” He massaged his eyelid. “Now pay me mind, for I am serious.” He locked his gaze with hers. “You are not to meddle in my affairs. Miss Julia is your companion and that is what she will stay.”
“How very bird-witted of you. I am not blind. I saw the way you both acted this morning, and your words provided further proof. Something happened between the two of you and I have no doubt she is smi—”
“Nothing happened. I am warning you, Celia, drop this theory of yours at once.” He peered back at her. “Swear to me you will.”
She rolled her eyes, something she reserved only for him. “Very well. If it is your desire to be ignorant, I cannot stop you.”
“Promise?”
“I already said I would leave it alone.” She rose from her chair. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have letters to write.”
Charles stood too. “One more thing. I am leaving within the hour.”
“You cannot! My come out is but three days away.” She pouted the way she used to as a child. “And what of Christmastide?”
“Do stop with the theatrics,” he said. “I have to away, but I will return in time to present you to society and enjoy the holiday with my family.” He came around his desk and took her hands. “Promise.”
“For what reason do you have to leave Huntington Park and travel to London during the holiday recess? No one important is in the city.” She studied him through wide eyes, her lips pressed into a straight line.
“Parliamentary business. I have to speak with someone who resides full time in London.” He released her hands and turned for the door, grateful his twitch had not given him away yet again.
“You cannot out-run true love.”
Charles stiffened. Love had nothing to do with anything, only lust. Pure animalistic desire for a beautiful woman—nothing more. Certainly nothing a little space could not cure.
Celia breezed past him and into the hall before glancing back. “You shall see.”
Chapter Eleven
Far too many days and nights had come and gone without Julia seeing Charles. She’d put on a brave face after he departed for London, doing her best to hide her hurt and serve Lady Celia, but the memory of his regret-filled gaze haunted her as much when she was awake as it did in her dreams. She treasured the memory of their time together. How could he retreat from it?
“This tea is wonderful, is it not?” The duchess smiled.
“Indeed, it is.” Julia lifted her teacup, forcing an answering smile. It would not do for the duchess to discover her woolgathering.
Lady Celia sat her cup aside. "Mother has it brought from the Orient by the boatload."
“One cannot be too picky when it comes to good tea,” the duchess replied.
“I suppose not, though I find it a bit bitter for my liking.” Lady Celia added a lump of sugar to her cup.
Her Grace shook her head in dismay before taking another dainty sip. “You know, Charles always adds an extra lump, too. You both got your sweet tooth from your father.”
Julia’s heart stung at the mention of Charles. She had accepted the idea that he did not want her, but it changed very little as far as her circumstances were concerned. She was still Lady Celia’s companion and still under Charles’s employ, neither of which she intended to change. But she had to understand why he pushed her away if she was ever going to get beyond her feelings for him—which she desperately wished to.
Tonight would provide her the chance to ask questions and receive answers—answers that would lead to closure—for it was Lady Celia’s come out ball and Charles had promised not to miss it. He would return home at some point today. When he did, he would speak with her, whether or not he wished to. She’d accept nothing less.
“Don’t you agree, Miss Julia?”
Julia looked up to discover Lady Celia staring at her. Drat, she’d not been paying mind to the conversation.
“Well?” Her Grace angled her head a fraction to the side.
Julia began tapping her foot, nerves pricking at her skin. Sh
e hated to admit to her meditations, but had no other choice. “I am sorry. I’m afraid my mind wandered and I missed the topic of conversation.”
Her Grace set her teacup aside and retrieved her fan. “I do believe that foot-tapping of yours is a nervous habit.”
Julia’s cheeks blazed as she stilled her foot. “I often do not even know I am doing it.”
Lady Celia glanced at Julia. “It is not such a bad thing.”
“Bite your tongue, Celia. A habit such as that must be broken,” the dowager said.
Julia plucked a piece of imaginary lint from her skirt. “I will endeavor to cease my foot-tapping from now on.”
Her Grace smiled, waving her fan at a more rapid pace. “Do tell. What has your nerves worked up?”
Julia fought to keep her feet still as her mind searched for an acceptable answer. She certainly could not tell the duchess her son’s seduction was the source of her angst.
Lady Celia stood from her wingback chair. “You are worried about tonight.”
Julia nodded. It was true, after all—though she imagined Lady Celia referred to her ball, rather than her brother’s return.
Lady Celia straightened her skirt. “Come along. We will go check progress on the ballroom. Spending some time in there before the guests arrive will soothe your nerves.”
“A splendid idea, darling”—the dowager rose to her feet still waving her fan—“Though I fear I cannot join you. I have important matters to attend.”
“More’s the pity.” Lady Celia gave a practiced pout. “Let us be on our way, Miss Julia.”
Julia followed Lady Celia out of the room, grateful to be making an escape from the duchess. With any luck, she would cross paths with Charles, or at least learn of his arrival home along the way to the ballroom.
Charles had ridden straight through from London in order to arrive back at Huntington Park in time for Celia's come out. Now he sat bone weary and covered in road dust, awaiting his bath to be filled. He would be lucky to stay awake during the blasted ball. Worse, Celia had been right. Nothing he did in London helped to flush Julia from his mind.
He loosened his cravat as servants filed into his chamber, pouring buckets of boiling water into his tub. Perhaps a long soak, followed by a short nap, would refresh him enough for tonight’s festivities and Christmastide on the morrow. What a pity there was no easy cure to get him past his desire for Julia. Based on all he’d tried while in London, nothing short of bedding her would satisfy his longing.
The clubs, booze, and widows of London certainly failed to accomplish the task. He had thought bedding another would suffice, but when he snuck away with the Widow Curry, he found himself unable to feign interest. In the end, he left her as he’d found her—untouched but for a few kisses.
He stood, allowing his valet to remove his garments before he sank into the warm water of the bath. “Leave me now.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The valet strolled from the room.
Charles leaned his head back against the copper tub, allowing his eyes to close. Visions of Julia laid out before him danced through his mind. She had been so willing, so wanton, so his. He should have given her what they both wanted that night, rather than acting the gentleman. If he had, he would not be so captivated by her.
Or would he?
It did not signify. What was done was behind them. With a sigh, he began washing away the dust and grime that clung to him. The fact remained as it always would, he did not want a wife anytime in the near future, and she was an innocent regardless of what he had done to her. They had no place in each other's arms.
He snapped his eyes open at the creak of his door. “Julia. What the devil?”
“Shush. Someone will hear you.” She stepped into his chamber, closing the door behind her.
“If it is not your wish to be found out, then you should not have come into my room.” He sank lower into the bath, causing some of the water to splash over the side.
“You are right. There is no escaping this now.” She sank onto her knees by the tub and reached for his cloth.
Heaven help him, she was a temptress. He closed his eyes against her assault as she ran the cloth over his chest and across his abdomen. She skimmed the rag over his cock, causing it to rise. He gritted his teeth in an attempt to maintain his self-control.
“Every time I come in contact with you my body begs for your touch.” Julia leaned over, bringing her lips to his flesh. She kissed a trail, nibbling and sucking along the way from his forehead to his cheek before licking a droplet of water from his neck.
To the devil with it. He grabbed her, pulling her into the tub and sending a wave of water over the sides. A tiny squeal left her mouth before he captured it with his. She wrapped her arms around him, parting her lips in an irresistible invitation. He worked to free her from the confines of her wet gown as they twirled against each other.
He pulled back in a moment of clarity. “Tell me you want this.”
She cupped his face in her hands, staring into his eyes. “I want you.”
Charles did not need to hear anything else. Pulling her mouth back to his, he kissed her with searing intensity while his hands roamed hungrily over the luscious curves of her body. With every movement she made, his desire to possess her grew stronger until it reached a fever pitch. Her touch, her scent, her kiss.... She was more than enough to drive any man mad with longing.
Capturing her waist with his hands, he stood, pulling her along with him, then lifted her into his arms and stepped from the tub. Her wet gown clung to her, revealing every shapely inch of her. Their gazes met, and the fire in her eyes nearly reduced him to cinders. He carried her to the bed, laying her down before coming over her.
She reached for his cock, her fingers trailing its length, as she rose up to kiss him.
“Slow down, darling. I want to savor you.” He freed her breasts and began sucking and licking them in turn, relishing every moan and whimper that left her kiss-swollen lips. He slipped his hand beneath her heavy skirts, finding the slit in her drawers. Slipping his hand inside, he teased the slick, soft flesh he so craved.
She writhed beneath him, tugging her skirts up. “Oh, Charles.”
“Yes, darling.” He slipped a finger into her tight, warm passage.
“I need you.” She released a breathy moan, moving against his hand.
Withdrawing his hand from her drawers, he turned her onto her belly and began unfastening her sodden dress as he kissed the shell of her ear, the column of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, and the arc of her back. Such perfection, all softness, warmth, and womanly curves.
He nipped at her revealed buttocks and delighted in her breathy scream before pulling her dress and drawers off in one smooth motion, freeing her from their confines. “Turn over. I want to look at you.”
Julia did as he wished, rolling onto her back, her legs slightly parted and arms over her head. If not for the blush tinting her cheeks, he’d never believe her a virgin. She was a perfect wanton, all innocence and invitation, bashfulness and sin, and all his.
She reached for him. “Kiss me.”
Charles did as she requested, bringing his lips back to her as he pushed two fingers into her. She tilted her hips with an eagerness matching his own, her heat and wetness throbbing around his digits. Any reason he still possessed fled. Nothing mattered except being inside her. Pushing her thighs farther apart, he settled between them.
Taking her lips with his, he sank into her small, damp sex, then stilled as a shiver ran through him. He gasped at the feel of her velvety softness gripping him in rich waves of pulsing pleasure.
Julia tilted her hips, causing him to slide out a fraction, then pulling him back in as she released a shuddering breath, her face flooding with brilliant color. God, she was something. He captured her breast in his hand, kneading it as he moved in and out of her while dropping kisses on every inch of skin within reach of his lips.
Before long, Julia matched his rhythm, her hips rock
ing back and forth, absorbing his thrusts as she tangled her hands in his hair and whimpered breathy sounds of pleasure. She ignited a blaze of lust the likes of which he’d never experienced before. Closing his eyes and slowing their rhythm, he fought to bring himself under control, a hellishly difficult task with her moving beneath him.
No, impossible was more accurate.
He stilled, reaching a hand between them to play with her swollen bud. “I want you so much.”
She wriggled against him, insisting. Soft moans of pure passion floated from deep within her. “I...want...you.” She thrust her hips, forcing him deeper, and he felt her approaching peak, the quivers and pulses gripping him as he gave in to her movements, matching her. His own climax was rushing up on him as he delved in and out of her slick tightness.
Her legs clamped around him as she threw her head back in rapture, her climax exploding around him. He slid free of her, his own climax ripping through him in a glorious blast of sheer ecstasy. Moving beside her, he gathered her close.
Julia laid her head on his chest, resting one leg across his torso, dropping butterfly kisses on his chest.
He smoothed her hair as he fought to regain his composure. Bedding her once would never be enough. She had become his vice. He needed her even now, moments after having her, and knew he always would. What a fool he had been. “Julia, darling.”
She looked up through hooded eyes. “Yes.”
"Marry me." He stared at her, heart pounding, suddenly unable to imagine his life without her by his side. Myriad fantasies swept across his mind—their wedding, children, lovemaking.... He wanted it all. "Julia, I love you."
She blinked before a slow smile spread across her face. “I love you, too.”
“Then say you will become my wife.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her satiny lips.
She kissed his thumb. “I cannot think of anything that would please me more.”
Those words brought him immeasurable happiness. “You have given me the best Christmas gift I could ever imagine.” He pulled her mouth to his and they shared a kiss so fiery, it welded their souls together. When he pulled back, she stared down at him, her eyes glistening. “I belong to you.”
Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset Page 79